


Fears From the Grave

by hecates



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boggarts, Gen, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecates/pseuds/hecates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years old and alone in a dark attic -- how can anything good come out of the situation? Or: Regulus Black's first encounter with a boggart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fears From the Grave

It is a knowledge universally accepted that children can be silly, from an adult's perspective. They play in the mud, they get dirty, they get awestruck over the simplest of things. Regulus Black, however, was born into a family where a privilege such as silliness could not be afforded.

So he is not certain why exactly is he down on his knees, crawling over the dusty attic floor of the Black family house.

There is only so much control a six year old can have, it seems.

The space is dark, even more so than the rest of the house, and everything seems so much more sinister; rusty chests holding god knows what covered with cloths black and ripped from surely just as ungodly reasons. And yet the darkness wakes up an interest in young Regulus and so he pushes trough the obstacles in his way before he comes to an old wooden desk, half of the drawers hanging from the hinges, black from what seems like an explosion, or a fire.

It is an odd sight, but the raven-haired boy shrugs it off soon enough as he stands up, brushing off the dust from his expensive trousers. As he lifts his head again and his gaze returns to the desk, however, he is ready to swear that something is different. The drawer, that broken one lying on the floor, he is certain that it used to be a lot more to the left…And then something moves.

A pale hand peeks from inside the desk and Regulus can only watch, frozen half in fascination and half in fear. That is, until he realises what the hand belongs to; then he is frozen only in fear.

It is something he overheard only recently when his uncles had been visiting. An army of the dead, corpses lifted from the grave to be controlled by one living person. It is a terrifyng thought, and it takes Regulus a few seconds that the thought is what's moving in front of him. His lips part as if to let a scream escape, but no sound can be heard. Soon enough, he can not only see the hand, but an arm, a shoulder, a hollow, disturbing face, the coal black eyes staring at him is as he can see death itself when he meets the thing's gaze, and death is no thing a six year old should see. Finally, a scream rips trough the thick air, and Regulus' feet shuffle backwards before his back collides with something hard; panic overtakes his body as the corpse approaches him, he tries to move, but the room is too crowded and not even his small body can pass.

And then, then a noise erupts from behind the pile of old furniture and after a few moments, Regulus is met with the sight of his mother, her face dark and sharp.

"Riddikulus!" she shouts, and all Regulus knows is that the creature is no longer on the floor, and he is safe — he is safe from the creature, at least. The cold woman in front of him stands still as silence creates a wall between them, thick and suffocating. It is only then that Regulus feels the dampness on his cheeks and registers the tears and the shaking. Shock runs trough his young body and he uses all the control he's had installed into him to stop himself from sobbing because he knows, oh he knows very well, that he cannot afford to sob before his mother of all people. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but once again he can't bring himself to let out a sound.

And yet Walburga Black only arches an eyebrow, waiting for her son to make the first move.

"I'm sorry."

Her eyebrows only go higher on her forehead. "Talk like a normal person, I cannot hear you."

He licks his lips, preparing his voice to come out as more than a shaking tone. "I am sorry," he manages, almost proud of the fact that his words are understandable.

His mother purses her lips and her expression turns blank.

"Blacks are not sorry," she says sharply, before roughly wiping away his tear, the almost motherly action reminding him more of a slap. "Blacks do not cry." She pushes his shoulder in the direction of the door of the attic before throwing an ureadable glance in the direction of the broken desk, her features hardening. "And Blacks do not fear."

Later on, when Regulus recalls the memory in his later years, he will think of what the boggart did when his mother entered the attic, and he will pretend that he did not see his grandfather.


End file.
